


Classical Conditioning

by thesmallchameleon



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, During Canon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hope I didn't heck up psychology, Hurt/Comfort, I love these boys and they should date, Possibly Pre-Slash, Post-Canon, Post-Squip, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychology, Scars, also I can't write the squip for some reason, but I don't think exactly now is the best time, like not these things specifically but could be read as them, look - Freeform, they need to heal my dudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 02:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11326530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesmallchameleon/pseuds/thesmallchameleon
Summary: clas·si·cal con·di·tion·ingnounPsychologya learning process that occurs when two stimuli are repeatedly paired; a response that is at first elicited by the second stimulus is eventually elicited by the first stimulus alone.





	Classical Conditioning

Jeremy closed his textbooks and stuffed his finished homework into his binder, packing everything back into his backpack for the next day. He leaned back in his desk chair, exhausted. Usually around this time of night, he would start to get twitchy and the only thing that could calm him down was jerking off. But for once he just wanted to sleep. Pretending to be cool all day was actually pretty exhausting. 

 

He pushed away from his desk and stood, shucking his jeans and changing into a more comfortable T-shirt before collapsing into bed. He reached over to turn out the light, but stopped. The SQUIP was standing next to his bed. 

 

 _Have you forgotten our arrangement?_ It asked. _Get out of bed and on the floor._

 

Jeremy's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. 

 

 _What arrangement?_ he asked, scratching the back of his neck for a moment. 

 

 _You thought about sex nine times today,_ the SQUIP announced. Jeremy paused, then groaned, rubbing his eyes briefly. He had completely forgotten. Exercise was just about the last thing he wanted to do right now, but he guessed it could be worse. Nine push-ups. That couldn't be that bad, right? 

 

 _18,_ the SQUIP corrected. _Remember we're doubling it to account for your genetics._

 

Jeremy sighed, then dropped to the floor, positioning himself awkwardly. The SQUIP took over for a moment, correcting his posture and Jeremy immediately felt the effects. Apparently any push-ups he had been doing in gym class weren't correct, with his hands too far apart and his back too curved. He tried to do one push-up in the way that the SQUIP instructed and almost collapsed on the ground. 

 

 _That's pathetic Jeremy,_ the SQUIP jided. _You can do better than that._

 

Slowly, painfully, he made his way through nine push-ups, his arms shaking from the effort. Jeremy could barely believe that this was something he was actually doing. A few nights ago he would have been watching porn in bed or having a late-night call with Michael. Or. Occasionally both. As he struggled through his tenth push-up, he vaguely wondered what Michael was doing right now. 

 

A sudden sharp pain burst from the back of his neck, causing him to yelp and collapse on the ground. He brought his hand to the spot where the shock had originated, his fingers twitching. 

 

 _What was that for?_ Jeremy asked, glad he didn't have to waste his shallow breaths on speaking out loud. The SQUIP was silent for a moment, causing Jeremy to lift his head and look up at it. 

 

 _System failure,_ it said eventually. _Sorry for the inconvenience._

 

Jeremy huffed, annoyed, and let his head fall back on the carpet. He was exhausted and his body was rejecting the exercise to the point that he wouldn't be surprised if he actually threw up after just a couple of push-ups. He just wanted to sleep. 

 

The SQUIP had other ideas. 

 

 _Come on Jeremy,_ it said. _Eight more._

 

Jeremy steeled himself, then repositioned his body. He wanted this, he reminded himself. All of this pain and frustration would be worth it. He just had to be patient. 

 

*** 

 

Jeremy could hardly believe he was eating lunch with Rich Goranski and Jake Dillinger. But there he was, sitting at the popular guys' table, eating fast food they had gotten off campus, and pretending like he wasn't freaking out. 

 

Rich was the one who had invited him. Now that their SQUIPs were all buddy-buddy, it seemed that Rich was inviting Jeremy to a lot of things. It took some coaching for Jeremy to realize that Rich was actually asking him to go places, because he did it in an offhanded way that made it seem like he didn't care either way. It was all a little... well a lot confusing. 

 

 _Relax._ He couldn't see the SQUIP at the moment, but he could hear it in his head. _You're doing fine. Brooke's sitting one table over. Look at her. She's trying to catch your attention._

 

Jeremy spotted Brooke and sure enough, though she was speaking to Chloe, she kept shooting him little looks. When he caught her eye, she gave him a little smile and tucked her chin down, looking up at him through her eyelashes. 

 

 _Smirk, then look away._

 

 _I don't know how to smirk,_ Jeremy thought at the SQUIP. He had a feeling that if the SQUIP was visually manifesting itself, it would be rolling it's eyes. 

 

His face muscles moved of their own accord. It felt unnatural, and Jeremy thought he probably looked like a tool, but hey, what did he know. He could at least do the looking away part on his own. 

 

He felt a little sleazy, pretending to ignore Brooke like that, but he figured the SQUIP knew what it was doing. It hadn't been wrong yet. 

 

Jeremy found himself scanning the cafeteria subconsciously. His eyes landed on a familiar table in the far corner. Guilt pooled in his stomach. The table appeared to be empty. Whether it actually was or not, there was no way to know. Michael could be sitting there right now... 

 

"Ow!" Jeremy's hand flew to the back of his neck. 

 

 _You were slouching._

 

He straightened his back, even though he had thought his posture was fine, and made up an explanation for his outburst to Rich and Jake, who were giving him odd looks. They seemed to buy his story about some bug biting him pretty easily. Jeremy wondered idly if Rich's SQUIP had something to do with how easy it was to convince them. Then Rich punched Jake in the arm and started asking about his most recent conquest for Christine, and Jeremy decidedly tuned out the conversation. 

 

Lunch seemed to stretch on forever. 

 

*** 

Jeremy was making out with Brooke. 

 

... 

 

He wasn't exactly sure how to feel about this. 

 

If pressed for words to describe his emotions, the first one that came to mind was probably terrified. Sure the SQUIP was coaching him through it--telling him where to put his hands, what to do with his mouth, how to use his height to his advantage-- and while that was sort of weird as fuck, he was pretty sure he was doing it right. But even so, he couldn't help the anxiety twisting in his stomach, telling him that he was going to screw it all up and make Brooke hate him forever and tell Jenna Rollan that he was a terrible kisser and then Christine would find out and never want to go on a date with him ever. 

 

So yes, terrified was pretty accurate. 

 

But there was also something else. His body certainly liked the feeling of Brooke's small form pressed against him, her wrists looped around his neck and her teeth grazing his bottom lip. It was almost washed out entirely though, by something dreadful and heavy that hung in his chest. 

 

Guilt, his mind supplied. 

 

He didn't actually like Brooke, he knew this. The SQUIP knew this. He didn't want to be kissing her. His body was reacting favorably, sure, but his brain was not on board. Even so, Brooke was sweet and he liked her a lot. But not... 

 

Something about the situation was challenging for Jeremy to comprehend. He was making out with a girl. A very pretty girl. And sure she wasn't Christine, but she was cute, and sweet, and clever and creative. So logically, Jeremy should be enjoying this, to some extent at least. But the more Brooke pressed into him, the lower his hands sank on her hips, the more he decided he hated this. 

 

It was like kissing... Michael or something. Expect no, that wasn't a good analogy because... 

 

A shock of pain ran down Jeremy's spine. He managed to grunt instead of yelp, and Brooke smirked against his lips. He was getting more used to the shocks, able to hide it much more easily than he used to, despite the pain. 

 

 _What did I do?_ Jeremy thought, glancing at the SQUIP who was leaning against the wall across the abandoned hallway. 

 

 _You're thinking too much,_ it said. _Try to relax. Enjoy yourself._

 

Jeremy closed his eyes and tried to force himself to concentrate on the things that felt good. But as much as he tried, he just couldn't enjoy it. He almost felt like crying in relief when Brooke finally pulled away, chest heaving. 

 

He leaned his head against the wall and smirked at her, the way the SQUIP had trained him to. It was fake, of course, as he really felt like running away and curling up in a ball, but Brooke seemed to eat it up. 

 

"I have to go meet Chloe," she explained, looking a little sheepish. 

 

"Do you really?" he said, tugging her hips towards him. She giggled, but pushed at his chest lightly, backing up. Jeremy's hands fell from her hips and caught hers, holding them lightly. 

 

"I promised we'd go costume shopping for Jake's party," she said, apology in her tone. "You're coming on Saturday, right?" 

 

 _Shrug. Be aloof._

 

Jeremy shrugged with one shoulder. 

 

"Maybe," he said, not sure what else to say. Brooke's face fell slightly, and he immediately felt awful. "Hey, if you're there I'm sure it will be worth it." 

 

He tried not to wince at the disappointed look the SQUIP was giving him, but the way that Brooke's face lit up was worth it. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him quickly before pulling away completely and starting down the hall. Jeremy watched her as she went, hips swaying in a way that he couldn't help but believe was intentional. She really was such a nice, cool person. And it was actually sweet, if not mildly concerning due to Chloe's nature, that she always put her best friend first. Jeremy felt a twinge of sadness. He missed having a friend like that. 

 

Pain shot through his spine. He grunted again, clenching his teeth through it. 

 

 _Just because no one can see you doesn't mean your posture is not important._

 

*** 

 

Jeremy was freaking out. His SQUIP was speaking Japanese, he was running from a guy who just punched through a window, he just cheated on his girlfriend who he didn't even want to be with with her best friend who he also didn't want to be with and he almost had sex for the first time against his will. 

 

Jeremy spotted the bathroom that he used earlier on in the evening and was relieved to find that by a miracle, there was no line. He slipped inside and shut the door behind him, locking it quickly and pressing his forehead to the wood while he caught his breath. It was OK. The alcohol would wear off eventually. Then his SQUIP would turn on again, probably, and it could tell him how to fix this whole mess. 

 

Jeremy stumbled over to the tub and sat down on the edge of it. He just needed to wait it out until he sobered up. Then everything would be find. 

 

Or so he thought, until something shot out between the shower curtains and grabbed his hand. 

 

Jeremy shrieked, yanking his arm away from the decidedly not human hand protruding from the shower. 

 

Then the shower curtain was pushed aside and Jeremy's heart sank. Michael stepped out, wearing the "creeper" shirt he ironed the decals onto himself. Jeremy twitched. Something in him twisted at the sight of his former best friend. Was it guilt? No. Well yes. But there was something else there too. Something stronger that he couldn't quite place. 

 

"Sup." 

 

"Michael? I didn't know you were invited to this party," Jeremy said for lack of anything else to say. 

 

"I wasn't. Which is why I'm wearing... this clever disguise." He gestured broadly to himself. He was just wearing normal clothes and a pair of monster gloves Jeremy remembered him buying from Spencer's gifts to prank their seventh grade science teacher. He didn't quite understand how that counted as a disguise, but he figured it couldn't be that hard to slip past a bunch of drunk high schoolers. 

 

He stared at Michael, unsure of what to say. A significant part of his brain was telling him to split. He had to get away. But the SQUIP wasn't back yet, and a teenage nightmare lay outside of the bathroom door. He was essentially trapped. 

 

"You're speechless. Squip got your tongue?" Michael asked, pulling off the monster gloves and setting them on the side of the tub. It was only then that Jeremy realized how angry Michael looked. An angry Michael was rare. Almost as rare as a sad Michael. 

 

"It's... off," Jeremy explained. He twitched. He needed to leave. 

 

"That would explain why you're talking to me..." Michael kept speaking, but Jeremy couldn't focus on what he was saying. His anxiety was only growing with every moment he spent talking to him. Michael seemed to notice that he wasn't paying attention. He stopped. 

 

"What?" he asked, visibly annoyed. 

 

"It's really good to see you, man," Jeremy lied. 

 

*** 

The play was a rush of fear and adrenaline. When Michael showed up to save the day, Jeremy was genuinely relieved to see him. There were already so many emotions coursing through his body, it was hard to tell which were caused by what. 

 

*** 

 

Jeremy was in the hospital. He wasn't exactly sure how he got there. It took a few seconds of staring at the weirdly clean ceiling to remember all of the fighting and yelling and screaming. It was...over. The SQUIP was gone. Or was it? 

 

"Hello?" Jeremy said out loud. Nothing responded. He tried to sit up. Throbbing pain erupted from his skull. "Ow. Ow ow ow ow ow." 

 

"Feels like you're missing a part of yourself, doesn't it?" 

 

Jeremy turned his head, pressing the heel of his palm to the pain. Rich was in the hospital bed beside him, his entire body encased in a cast. He looked different. There was something about his face, his voice too. He seemed, more relaxed somehow. Jeremy remembered the rumors about the fire and cringed as he examined the cast again. If he had burns all over his body, he was probably just exhausted. And on drugs. 

 

"Hurts like a motherfucker too." Jeremy nodded in agreement. "Be honest: what are they saying about me at school?" 

 

Jeremy recalled all of the rumors flying around. He's heard so much that he wouldn't know where to start. Some kids were saying Rich was on the brink of death, others were saying he was going to be locked up in a mental hospital. Some even managed to tie it back to the ultimate stupid high school rumor: that he lashed out because he was gay and couldn't handle it. 

 

"That bad?" Rich said, reading Jeremy's expression. 

 

"Sorry..." Jeremy said, unsure of what else to say. Rich's face did fall marginally, but he picked up a bright smile again. Jeremy noticed a gap between his front teeth. It wasn't ugly. In fact, there was something kind of adorable about it, but Jeremy wondered how he had never noticed it before. 

 

"Sorry? I'm finally free of that shiny happy hive mind! When I get outta here, the ladies are gonna learn to love the real Richard Goranski." 

 

He paused, frowned for a moment, then his face lit up. 

 

"And the dudes. Oh my god, I'm totally bi!" 

 

There was something in Jeremy that wanted to laugh. Not to be mean, but because of how excited Rich looked. He had a feeling that would not be a good reaction to someone coming out to themselves and someone else for the first time. He wasn't exactly sure what the correct reaction was, though, so he changed the subject. 

 

"Your squip's gone? But how?" 

 

"Ask your buddy. Anti-social headphones kid?" Michael. Dread pooled in Jeremy's stomach. What? "He's been by like, a ton, by the way. What is he, your boyfriend? No judgment. Just curious. Totally bi now." 

 

"I'm sure someone lucky will be lucky to have you Rich," a familiar voice said. Jeremy's gut twisted. 

 

As his friend closed the curtain around Jeremy's hospital bed, an uneasy feeling spread through him. He twitched as Michael came closer. He was relieved to see him. Grateful for everything he had done. And yet... he wanted him to go away. 

 

Over the past few months, Jeremy must have gotten pretty good at acting, because it seemed like Michael didn't suspect a thing. They talked like they used to. Michael explained the weird SQUIP hive mind that had thankfully been shut down with just a few gulps of Mountain Dew Red. Jeremy expressed his remorse and gratitude. And when his dad showed up, he was so grateful that he was wearing pants that he wanted to cry. But it wasn't until they left that whatever was digging into Jeremy's insides finally dissolved and he could genuinely relax. 

 

As Jeremy laid back in bed and stared up at the white tiled ceiling, he wondered what the fuck was wrong with him. Michael was his best friend. Michael saved him and the entire school, possibly the entire world. Michael was a hero. Michael was selfless and amazing. 

 

And yet, even the thought of his name made Jeremy feel sick. 

 

*** 

 

Everything was back to normal. Mostly. 

 

Jeremy found himself a part of a new group of friends that included Christine, Rich, Jake, Brooke, Jenna, and Chloe, because apparently temporarily sharing a hive mind brought people together. 

 

Drama was canceled for the rest of the year in order to investigate claims of mass drug use among the cast. It never seemed to go anywhere, though, due to the astounding lack of evidence. All it did was make Christine depressed for a month or so, until Jake started inviting her along to a bunch of his clubs and sports. Eventually she found herself enjoying school, even without play rehearsal, though she claimed she was forcing every member of their newly formed friend group to audition next year. 

 

Jeremy finally worked up the nerve to ask Christine out, only to find that after a week of dating that neither of them was quite ready for a relationship. Christine still didn't understand who she was, and while going out with Jeremy had seemed like the easier option when he asked, it wasn't long before she realized that she didn't like him as anything more than a friend. On Jeremy's part, being with the girl he had idolized for the past three years of his life was... terrifying. And not as amazing as he had thought it would be. 

 

Jeremy tried to split his time between the SQUIP squad and Michael, but slowly, guiltily, found himself spending more and more time with his newer friends. He could see that it was hurting Michael, every time he turned down videogames and/or pot for going to the mall with Brooke, Jenna, and Rich or watching bootlegs on Christine's laptop. But he couldn't help himself. It just. Hurt to be around him. 

 

It was probably guilt, he thought, one night when he couldn't seem to fall asleep. He was twitchy, but hell if he was going to jack it when every time he attempted, he heard the SQUIP's voice criticizing him. 

 

So yeah, guilt. That would make sense. Jeremy felt guilty about ditching Michael. Seeing Michael reminded him of that guilt. So he avoided him. Then felt even more guilty. 

 

Jeremy clawed at his hair in frustration. It made sense. Or it would, if he was avoiding everyone he felt guilty about. But he still managed to be friends with Brooke, Jake, and Christine, all of whom he did things to that made him feel awful. And yeah, whenever someone brought it up, or even if it was just on his mind, he wanted to curl up in a ball and ended up apologizing profusely, but for the most part he could be around them and think about them and just enjoy their company. 

 

Why was Michael so different? 

 

*** 

 

This was awkward. This was so awkward. Michael was in Jeremy's room. Jeremy was fumbling with the TV, trying to figure out why it wasn't turning on. Neither spoke. 

 

Jeremy felt like shit. He was the one who invited Michael over, and yet he just wanted him to leave. 

 

"Figure it out yet?" Michael asked flatly. Jeremy twitched and jiggled another cable. It was loose. He worked it back into place and turned on the TV. The screen flickered on. 

 

"Got it," Jeremy said, painting a false smile onto his face. 

 

Michael wasn't even pretending to be happy about being here. If Jeremy was being honest, he had no idea why Michael had even agreed to come. It was the first time Jeremy had invited him over in over a month, and it had been weeks since Michael gave up inviting him places and being constantly turned down. 

 

Jeremy tossed Michael his controller and he caught it with a roll of his eyes. Jeremy sat next to him on the edge of his bed, ignoring the way being near him set his teeth on edge. 

 

He started up whatever game was in the system the last time he played. He was surprised to find that it was Apocalypse of the Damned. The last time he had played that was with Michael, the same afternoon he had gotten his SQUIP. Was that really the last time he had played video games? 

 

He glanced at Michael to see if he noticed. By the way his jaw set, Jeremy figured he had. 

 

They tried to pick up where they left off. Level 10: The Science Hall. Jeremy lost his first life almost immediately. Michael scoffed. Within five minutes, they were game over. Jeremy looked over at Michael, wondering if he should even bother to restart the level. 

 

It didn't seem like it. Michael looked pissed. After a moment, he huffed and set the controller down on the bed next to him. He stood up, not even sparing Jeremy a glance. 

 

"I'm leaving," he said. 

 

Jeremy watched him walk towards the door, relief washing through him. Thank god he was leaving. He could finally relax. 

 

As Michael set his hand on the doorknob, frustration began to build. Jeremy didn't want him to go. He missed Michael. He wanted them to go back to the way they were before he ruined everything. He wanted to be able to think about him, spend time with him, be with him without feeling so damn awful all of the time. 

 

Michael opened the door. Jeremy threw his controller across the room. It hit the wall with a loud crack. Michael jumped and turned around. Jeremy sat down on the bed, his hands going to his hair as he let out a strange squawking sound. 

 

Then he sat there. Head in hands, elbows balanced on his knees. Michal didn't say anything for several long moments, seemingly frozen in place with the door ajar behind him. 

 

"Do you hate me?" he asked suddenly. Jeremy's fingers tightened in his hair. 

 

"No," Jeremy said, a little more forcefully than he intended. It almost came out as a growl. 

 

"Then why are you acting like this?" Michael demanded, still not moving from his spot. Jeremy threw his hands up. 

 

"I don't know!" he said. He looked up at Michael. They held eye contact and there was another stretch of silence. Then Michael turned, wordlessly. 

 

"Wait," Jeremy found himself saying suddenly. He jumped to his feet. "Please, let me try to explain." 

 

Michael froze, but did not turn to face him. 

 

"Why the hell should I?" he asked. 

 

Jeremy clenched his fists, ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach. The one he had begun to associate with Michael's presence. This was more important. 

 

"Because I know you," Jeremy said, his voice coming out surprisingly softly. "And right now, even though you're acting like you're mad at me, you're blaming yourself." 

 

He saw Michael tense, but he didn't argue. 

 

"This... isn't your fault," Jeremy continued. "I don't know what it is exactly, but it's not because of anything you did. You can choose whether or not you want to be my friend. I can't stop you if you don't. But please. Let me at least make sure you know it's not your fault." 

 

For a moment, Michael said nothing. Then he inhaled sharply and closed the bedroom door, turning around and coming back to Jeremy's bed. He sat down, leaving a wide space between them. 

 

Jeremy stared at the floor and wrung his hands. Trying to find the words to explain. Michael, to his credit, waited patiently for him to figure himself out. 

 

"Ever since the... the squip," Jeremy started, "I can't think about you without feeling... without..." 

 

He searched for the word. It was so hard to describe. Just this deep-rooted negative emotion. This... visceral rejection. 

 

"Sick," he finally settled on, his voice cracking. He glanced over at Michael and immediately felt terrible. His jaw was clenched, hurt evident on his face. 

 

"But I don't understand it," Jeremy said quickly. "Because you're the person I care about the most in the whole world and we've known each other forever and I don't hate a single thing about you and you're always there for me and I want... I've always wanted..." 

 

Jeremy looked away. 

 

"For all of my life, whenever I pictured the future, you were always there. Through all of it." 

 

Michael said nothing. 

 

"You're my player one," Jeremy said quietly. 

 

There was silence. 

 

"I don't understand," Michael said, trying to keep his voice cool even though it wavered. "You can't just... ignore me for weeks, tell me I make you sick, and then go and say shit like that and expect me to just accept it." 

 

"I know." 

 

"It's not fair." 

 

"I know." 

 

They were quiet. 

 

"What do you mean by sick?" Michael asked eventually. Jeremy sighed and ran his hand through his hair. 

 

"It's hard to explain," he said. "It's just this terrible feeling. Like, a physical reaction that I can't do anything about. My insides twist up and my brain just starts going _get away, get away, get away_ and I can't help it." 

 

When Michael spoke, his voice was thin. 

 

"And I make you feel like this?" 

 

Jeremy immediately looked up at him. Michael was staring at the floor, his throat straining as he held back tears. 

 

"No!" Jeremy assured him quickly. "I mean... yes—but it's not your fault! You didn't do anything! It's my brain. My brain's all messed up and I don't know why." 

 

Nothing in Michael's expression changed. Jeremy started to panic. 

 

"Michael, I swear. I don't know why this is happening, but I know that it's not because of you. It's just like, every time I think about you I'm expecting..." 

 

Jeremy's hand went to the back of his neck. He froze. Something felt weird about the skin there. He ran his finger over the thin ridge. Was there something on his neck? He scraped at it and winced is his fingernail caught his skin. 

 

"M-Michael," Jeremy stammered. Michael must have noticed the change in his tone, because he looked up. His eyes widened in concern when he saw Jeremy's expression. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. For all of this. I know it doesn't change anything. But. Please, can you do me a favor." 

 

Michael frowned, but didn't say anything either way. 

 

"Can you... take a look at my neck for a second." 

 

"What the--" 

 

"Please." 

 

Surprise and confusion was evident on Michael's face, but he nodded. Jeremy turned and sat crisscross on the bed, facing away from him. Michael's fingers were gentle as they pulled the collar of Jeremy's shirt down an inch or so. Jeremy tried to ignore the terrible feeling that intensified with how close they were. 

 

"I don't see...oh." 

 

"What? What is it?" Jeremy said. 

 

"Can you take off your shirt for a second," Michael asked. Jeremy complied, pulling his shirt over his head. He flinched when Michael let out a sharp gasp. 

 

"Jer, what happened?" he asked softly, his fingers brushing lightly against Jeremy's back. It felt weird. 

 

"I don't know," Jeremy said. "What is it?" 

 

There was some shuffling behind him, then the snapping sound of a photo being taken. Michael handed Jeremy his phone wordlessly. Jeremy's mouth went dry. 

 

"Jesus Christ," he said, staring at the photo, trying his very best not to lose it. 

 

"It looks like lightening," Michael said. "Did you get electrocuted or something?" 

 

Jeremy shook his head, then paused. Anger coursed through him. 

 

"Spinal stimulation," he mimicked bitterly. 

 

"What?" 

 

"It was the damn squip," he said, handing the phone back to Michael. Looking at the picture made him want to throw up. "It would shock me when I didn't listen to it." 

 

Michael said nothing, and when Jeremy turned to look at him, he was surprised to see a look of horror on his face. 

 

"It wasn't a big deal," he said quickly. "I mean. It was stupid really. Like sometimes if I was slouching or tried to jerk off, but mostly when I thought about--" 

 

Jeremy cut himself off. 

 

"Fuck," he said suddenly, his hands curling around the balled up shirt in his hands. 

 

"What?" Michael asked, his voice nervous. Jeremy could only guess this was a rollercoaster for him. 

 

"Fuck," he said again, standing up and starting to pace. The SQUIP hated it when he paced. Jeremy didn't give a shit. 

 

"What?" Michael repeated, more forcefully. Jeremy stopped and stared at him, really stared at him. 

 

 _Michael,_ he thought, soaking in the feeling of every part of his brain rejecting the person in front of him. _Michael, Michael, Michael, Michael, Michael._

 

"Whenever I thought about you," Jeremy finally finished. "It shocked me when I thought about you. And I didn't realize it because it would always make an excuse. And now I'm avoiding you because whenever I think about you I'm expecting it to hurt." 

 

Michael just sat on Jeremy's bed, gaping as he stared at Jeremy. It had to be a lot to take in. Jeremy didn't know if Michael would even believe him. He didn't know if he expected him to believe him. So Jeremy was surprised when Michael suddenly jumped up. 

 

"I think I've heard about something like this." 

 

He dashed over to Jeremy's desk and logged onto his laptop, not even bothering to ask. Something inside of Jeremy cooed at the sense of normalcy. Jeremy came up behind him and set his hands on the back of the desk chair, watching as Michael typed "pavlova dogs" into the search bar. Google corrected him and he clicked on a Wikipedia article entitled "Classical conditioning." 

 

"Here," Michael said. "I saw a documentary on this. This dude Pavlov did an experiment where he would ring a bell right before feeding these dogs every day, and they would get all slobbery because they were expecting food. Then, one day, he rang the bell without giving them food and they got all slobbery anyway. It's called classical conditioning. Sound familiar?" 

 

Jeremy paled. His fingers tightened around the back of Michael's chair. So that's what the SQUIP was doing. It was training him. Like a dog. 

 

"You ok?" Michael asked, turning his head to look up at Jeremy. Jeremy puffed out his cheeks and let out a deep breath. 

 

"No," he said honestly. "Tell me more about this dog thing." 

 

The more Michael read and explained, the more it made sense. The association of the "biological stimulus" (pain in Jeremy's case) with the "neutral stimulus" (Michael) had to be subconscious. The SQUIP never told Jeremy that it was shocking him because he was thinking about Michael. If it had, he would have put up more of a fight. Probably. Maybe. He hoped he would have at least. 

 

And then now he was dealing with the physical reaction to the "neutral stimulus" because he was expecting the "biological stimulus" even though they weren't both happening at the same time anymore. 

 

"I'm so dumb," Jeremy said eventually, bending over and resting his head on crossed arms on the chair back. Michael turned and rubbed the top of his head gently. 

 

"Hey, you didn't know," he said. 

 

Jeremy propped his chin on his arms. The proximity to Michael was making his hairs stand on end. At least now he knew why. 

 

"Is there any way to undo it?" he asked, somewhat hopeless. "I kind of hate feeling terrible around you." 

 

"I'm sure there is," Michael said, though his voice gave away his nervousness. "Let's see." 

 

Jeremy watched as Michael typed "how to undo classical conditioning" into the search bar. The first result that popped up was another Wikipedia article called "Counterconditioning." Jeremy perked up. Michael shot him a hopeful grin. That looked promising. 

 

"Dude, this is great!" Michael said as he scanned the article. "It looks like all we have to do is make it so that you associate something good with me." 

 

Jeremy read over his shoulder. The article used much more complicated words, but it seemed like that was the general gist of it. It gave an example of a kid with a rabbit phobia where they gave him his favorite food while he was near a rabbit. 

 

"So like, I just have to eat Swedish Fish when we hang out," he said. 

 

"Looks like it." 

 

"I don't have any Swedish Fish," Jeremy grumbled. Michael laughed. 

 

"It doesn't have to be food," Michael said. "Just uh, 'positive stimulus.'" 

 

Jeremy snorted. 

 

"Positive stimulus," he said. Michael spun around in his chair, forcing Jeremy to stop leaning on the back of it and take a step back. 

 

"Positive stimulus," Michael repeated, his eyebrows going up and down. Jeremy laughed and pushed his head away gently. 

 

"Shut up," he said. Michael snickered and stood up. He passed Jeremy and went over to the bed before sitting down and kicking his shoes off. Jeremy raised his eyebrows. 

 

"Come over here," Michael said. "I have an idea." 

 

Jeremy shrugged and crossed the room, willing to try pretty much anything. Michael sat up against the headboard, pulling his legs onto the bed with him, so Jeremy sat down across from him, legs crisscross, leaving a considerable space between. Michael pulled his sticker-covered iPod out of his hoodie pocket and pressed some buttons. Michael had had it since middle school and refused to use his phone for music once he actually had a smartphone. Jeremy used to tease him about it every now and then. 

 

"Come here," Michael said, gesturing for Jeremy to come closer. Jeremy bit the inside of his cheek, suddenly nervous. He scooted a little closer, immediately feeling himself tense up. 

 

God, how had he not realized that the feeling he had whenever Michael was close was fear? 

 

"Little closer," Michael said, softly. Hurt was evident in his expression. 

 

Jeremy steeled himself and closed the distance between them, sitting so that their knees were touching. He ignored the panic that was growing inside of him. Michael ducked his head and took his headphones off from around his neck and put them on Jeremy. Then he pressed play. 

 

Jeremy smiled, recognizing the song instantly. It was a sweet piano song, one Michael had shown him a long time ago. He hadn't thought about it in years. 

 

Jeremy always used to have trouble sleeping. He would toss and turn for hours, his brain never quite getting the message that it was time to shut off. That was back when he was a kid. When he would spend the night with Michael, he would always close his eyes and pretend to sleep until he heard Michael's breathing even out. Then he would wait. One night, Michael woke up due to his fidgeting and found out. He played this song for Jeremy, and a few others, until he was calm enough to relax until he eventually fell asleep. 

 

In more recent years, Jeremy's found that masturbating could also get his brain to shut off long enough to let him fall asleep. He hadn't tried music in years. 

 

Jeremy closed his eyes, letting himself relax into the music. Gentle hands on the sides of his face made him open his eyes again. Right. Michael. Jeremy stared at his best friend, feeling a little awkward, but determined to fix this. Michael left his hands where they were, gentle on either side of Jeremy's face. 

 

"Gay," he said teasingly, though he couldn't exactly hear his own voice. Michael's headphones canceled out most of the outside sound. Michael seemed to hear him though, because his face lit up with laughter. Jeremy grinned. 

 

Suddenly, though, his smile was false. Anxiety surged through him. His jaw tensed. Michael must have noticed the change, because the corners of his mouth turner down in concern. 

 

Michael was saying something, but Jeremy couldn't hear him over the music. He had to... He needed to get away. He twitched, looking anywhere except at the person sitting on the bed in front of him. Michael's hands lowered from his face and for a moment, Jeremy felt like he could breathe. 

 

Then, suddenly, Michael's arms were wrapped around him, tugging him closer. Jeremy felt his breath catch as fear coursed through his body. He shut his eyes tight and focused on the music still playing in Michael's headphones. His fingers curled around the fabric of Michael's sweatshirt as he pressed his face into his chest. 

 

Michael brushed his hands over Jeremy's back and Jeremy was suddenly reminded of the fact that he still wasn't wearing a shirt. Michael didn't seem to mind, rubbing calming circles over his shoulder blades. 

 

Jeremy focused on the sweet music, and the calming touches, and the comforting warmth. This was Michael. All of these things were Michael. Jeremy wasn't quite sure how long they sat like that. Long enough for the music to become unfamiliar, though still soothing. Long enough for his throat to stop feeling like it was trying to strangle him. Long enough that when he pulled away, he was able to look Michael in the eye and feel significantly less awful. 

 

It was awkward, for a moment, when Jeremy pulled away and sat back on his heels. He took off the headphones and the world felt so achingly quiet. He gave them back to Michael, who put them back where they belonged, around his neck. 

 

"I'm sorry," Jeremy blurted. "I'm so, so sorry." 

 

Michael gave him a small smile, fixing his glasses on his nose. 

 

"It's OK," he said. 

 

"It's not," Jeremy insisted. Michael looked away. 

 

"Okay. Maybe it's not," he said softly. Then he turned back to Jeremy, determination in his eyes. "But it will be." 

 

Jeremy felt tears prick at his eyes and scrubbed at them callously with the heel of his palm. 

 

"I want Swedish Fish," he said. Michael laughed and scooted to the edge of the bed, standing. He stuffed his feet back in his shoes without bothering to untie them, then grabbed Jeremy's shirt from the floor where he had dropped it and threw it at him. 

 

"Come on," Michael said. "Let's go get you some Swedish Fish." 

 

Jeremy pulled the shirt over his head, then stood. He grabbed his wallet and keys from his desk. 

 

"I think I owe you a slushie anyway," he said, following Michael out the door. 

 

"Dude," Michael said. "You owe me about thirty slushies."

**Author's Note:**

> Yoooo I wrote another BMC fic. Yay.
> 
> The song that Michael played for Jeremy was this one because I use it to shut off my brain sometimes:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H2-1u8xvk54
> 
> I'm not a huge fan of rewriting scenes from the script but I felt like it was kind of necessary. Also I'm pretty sure I got the general gist of the whole behavioral psychology across, but sorry if I made errors. Keep in mind that by the end of the fic it's not expected that Jeremy is "fixed" or anything. He's got some major issues to word through, this being one of many that will still require a lot of time and energy. 
> 
> So. Uh. Yeah. That's about it I think. Hope you liked it! I wrote a 4 chapter BMC fic a little while ago so if you want to read that feel free. And let me know what you think! Thank you so much for reading!! <3


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